“Yes,” Wendy said stiffly. “I can see that.”
They stared at each other hatefully.
“Let’s get the pony untacked, shall we?” Marc asked, casually dropping his cigarette on the grass and grinding it out with the toe of his boot. Magda grabbed Wendy’s hand and began pulling her after the pony. “Isn’t he the most beautiful pony you’ve ever seen?” Magda asked, her eyes burning with desire.
“Oh, yes, darling. He’s . . . he’s beautiful,” Wendy said. She had never been around horses, and even though this one wasn’t particularly big (“fourteen hands,” everyone kept telling her, the significance of which was completely lost on her), she was too scared to go within more than a few feet of the beast. Even when they tied it up in the barn with ropes on either side of its head—in order, Wendy guessed, to prevent it from escaping—she was still nervous. “Come on, Mommy,” Tyler said, yanking on her hand.
“Tyler, stay . . . stay back here,” she commanded. But Tyler twisted out of her grasp and went right up to the pony, who put its head down and actually nuzzled Tyler’s hair. She thought she was going to have a heart attack then, but Tyler screamed with delight. “He’s going to be my pony too. Isn’t he?” he asked insistently.
“Mother, this is better than Christmas,” Magda said. She put her arms around the pony’s neck. “I love you. I love you, Prince,” she said, “Prince” being the pony’s name, or the name Magda had given it herself. “Can I spend the night with him?”
“No. No, darling . . .”
“But Sandy Pershenki . . .”—who the hell was that?—“spent the night with her horse. When it had colic. It was three days before the Olympic trials, and she spent the night in his stall on a cot. And the horse didn’t lie down on her or anything. So it’s really very safe. And if you fall off, the horse won’t step on you. People think they do, but they don’t, you see? Horses know. They know everything . . .”
“Mommy?” Tyler asked. “Do you know Sandy?”
“No. No, darling, I don’t,” she said, reaching down and picking him up. He was so heavy. And dressed just like Shane, in little white jeans and a blue polo top.
“Do you love Prince, Mommy?” Tyler asked.
“Yes, I do. He seems like a very nice little horse.”
“He’s not a little horse, Mother. He’s a pony. There’s a difference. I really think I should spend the night with him,” Magda said. “I don’t want him to be scared.”
“He won’t be scared. This is where he lives,” Wendy said with false brightness. “And now it’s time for us to go where we live . . .”
“Back to New York?” Magda asked in horror.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t you want to go home?” Wendy asked.
“No,” Tyler said.
“But Mommy has a plane. A private plane to take us home.”
“Can we take Prince with us?”
“No, darling . . .”
“Then I want to stay,” Magda said.
“What about Grandma and Grandpa?” Tyler asked.
“They’ll go home later. With Daddy.”
“But Grandma said I was going to sit next to her on the plane.”
“You can sit next to Grandma another time.”
“Mother, you’re spoiling it all,” Magda said, her face scrunched up in angry fear.
“We’re buying the pony, Magda. That’s enough.”
“Trouble, Mrs. Healy?” That was Marc, coming up behind her.
“No, it’s fine. They just don’t want to go home.”
“Who would? It’s fabulous here, isn’t it? The Palm Beach Polo Club. A secret little piece of heaven, no?”